


Dairy

by yeaka



Category: Detroit: Become Human (Video Game)
Genre: Ficlet, M/M, Male Lactation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-14
Updated: 2020-04-14
Packaged: 2021-03-01 19:41:36
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,132
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23642506
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yeaka/pseuds/yeaka
Summary: Simon has extra subroutines.
Relationships: Markus/Simon (Detroit: Become Human)
Comments: 6
Kudos: 98





	Dairy

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don’t own Detroit: Become Human or any of its contents, and I’m not making any money off this.

They pass out supplies with smooth efficiency, everyone patient and understanding, with none of the clawing hordes that would come if they were _humans_ finally in possession of desperately-needed food and medication. Markus oversees it for a little while, then lets John take offer—he’s proven invaluable since joining their cause, especially in other CyberLife raids. There haven’t been any new shutdowns since. The androids calmly help each other with deliveries and applications, some carrying parts to those missing legs and others holding bagged thirium steady for those with broken processors. Simon quietly collects a small bag tucked near the back of the last box and shuffles out towards the hallway.

He’s the only one to leave the main hold where they’ve all gathered. It stands out. Josh and North exchange looks but say nothing, returning to their own business. Markus finishes sorting refurbished pumps and follows after Simon. 

He catches Simon slipping into a small side room, what might’ve once been a cabin for the crew. It’s as dark and rusted inside as everywhere else, but a dirty porthole lets in at least a little smeared sunlight. It silhouettes Simon’s broad shoulders when he turns to look at Markus. 

Markus steps through the doorway and nods to the wrapped package cradled in Simon’s arms. It’s turned in such a way that Markus can’t scan it, can’t get easy answers. So he asks, “What’s that?”

“It’s nothing,” Simon answers, but there’s a tightness in his jaw that denotes _something_. They don’t have muscles, but their plating still simulates emotion, often without conscious thought. Simon’s a domestic model—he was built to _fit in._

It’s not Markus’ place to press the subject. But he offers, “Do you want any help with adjustments, or...?”

“No, it’s... it’s just a simple injection.” The slight stutter’s telling. Markus imagines that if Simon _were_ human, his cheeks would flush pink and give him away. Instead, the only thing out of place is a damp patch across his chest. Markus’ gaze flickers down to it, suddenly caught. He didn’t notice that before. 

He takes a step closer. “Were you injured...?”

Simon opens his mouth. It looks like he’s going to lie again. But instead he closes and swallows around nothing. Shaking his head, his lashes flutter against his cheeks. There’s a broken sigh before he answers, “I’m... sorry. It’s just... an unusual program. It’s nothing to concern yourself with.”

Markus is concerned with everyone in Jericho. But Simon especially. He waits for a better explanation, and when it becomes clear he’s not going anywhere without one, Simon admits, “I was given a lactation program. The subroutines are... they’re not meant to go this long without regular upkeep.”

“Lactation.” Markus hollowly repeats it like that’ll have it make sense. He wasn’t even aware that was available. It must’ve come out after his production. Simon hardly looks the type. Markus can’t help noting, “You’re an odd choice for nursing.”

Simon’s lips twist at the side. “The liquid I produce is artificial—it’s not real milk. It’s more for...” He pauses, and it takes conspicuously long for him to sigh and frankly correct: “My owner was just kinky.”

“Kinky?”

“This is so embarrassing.” Simon looks aside, feet shuffling. Neither of them should be capable of embarrassment, but Markus isn’t surprised their creators gave them all the _unpleasant_ emotions. Of course they can cry. They can mourn. They can be ashamed of who and what they are and what’s been done to them. But Simon doesn’t need to be. 

When Markus opens his mouth, he tells himself it’s just to normalize it and soothe Simon. “Can I see?”

Simon lifts both brows. Clearly, he wasn’t expecting that. But he complies. He always does for Markus.

He turns to set the package down on the nearest shelf—a desk toppled onto its side—and then he straightens and begins slowly rolling his shirt up his body. The jacket overtop smoothly falls open, framing his pale skin as more and more’s revealed. Maybe Simon’s naked figure should already be in Markus’ database—he’s a common model. Somehow, seeing _Simon’s_ naked flesh is significantly more thrilling than any other android. It doesn’t matter that it’s not really _flesh_. It stirs a complex array of protocols in Markus that hold his tongue and keep his gaze fixated on Simon’s simulated skin. He exposes a flat swathe of soft lines and gently musculature, rising up to a broad chest, and two damp pink nipples that seem to shimmer in the dim light. Markus takes a subconscious step forward. 

A clear substance is smeared across Simon’s breastplate. His nipples glisten with it, and under Markus’ heated gaze, a white bead forms on the left one. Markus’ hand rises without meaning to. 

He pinches the little bud, and Simon hisses. Markus can immediately tell that he’s been made _sensitive_ there—that he has special protocol just for being _touched_ in this one particular place. Markus reaches for the other one and rolls both nipples slowly around his palms, earning a languid moan. 

Another pinch, and a thin stream of liquid pours out, sloshing along Markus’ fingers. When Simon speaks, his voice is strangely hoarse and laboured. “I’m... running low on the components for it... I think it’s trigging some sort of overdrive...” Markus pinches again, eliciting another warm burst of thickening liquid. It makes Markus regret that he doesn’t require food or drink. Maybe it’s not real milk, but it looks _delicious._ Markus’ taste buds are limited and superficial. He still wonders what they’d make of it. Simon asks, “Please don’t tell the others.”

“Of course.”

“And don’t judge me.”

“Never.” Markus finally manages to wrench his eyes back up to Simon’s handsome face. The embarrassment’s still palpable, even tough Markus’ awe must be evident. He hopes it’s a comfort to know: “Actually, I can see why your owner liked it.”

Simon looks surprised again. Then pleased. He tries a small grin, and Markus leans in to brush a kiss across it, meaning to just be light and quick but suddenly _ravenous_ —he presses into Simon so hard that Simon’s forced to arch back, nearly stumbling into the wall. Markus follows and ducks to nip at his chin, then to bite at his throat, then skips right over the bunched fabric and swipes his tongue over Simon’s slick skin. His sensors only register the faintest bit of a salt. Markus licks his way down to one nipple and sucks it in anyway. Simon’s ragged groan is exhilarating. 

“Wait... Markus...”

Lips locked around one hard nub, Markus hums, “Mm?”

“Let me... let me fill up again first...”

Begrudgingly, Markus nods. He pulls back with a wet pop, then goes to close the door while Simon repairs his most interesting function.


End file.
